Surprise Visits
by PixieSpriteify
Summary: Root pops by somewhat unexpectedly in the dead of night to visit Shaw. Shaw is understandably irritated. Please review if you like. Might turn into a series if people like it.
1. Chapter 1

Hey there. Thought I'd try my hand at writing Shoot, or raw, whichever you like to use. Might turn into a series if people like it. Forgive any mistakes, and I hope you enjoy and review.

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Shaw was wrenched sharply from the warm embrace of her slumber, back into the cruel, cold world she lived in by an incessant ringing from her phone. Swearing to behead the perpetrator, she snatched the offending object, using as little movement as she could manage. She accepted the call and held the phone to her ear, her face still half buried in her comfy pillow.

"What?" she snapped. Even with the pillow muffling her voice, the ire was still blatantly obvious. Though Shaw was aware of this fact, she wasn't in a mood to worry about Finch's feelings. Although, she was never in a mood to care about that.

"Somebody's grumpy today," replied a familiar but unexpected voice. Shaw quirked an eyebrow, withdrawing the phone and checking the time. It was quarter past three in the morning. With a curse, Shaw hung up the phone and tossed it to the foot of her bed, slumping back down onto her pillow and sinking beneath the covers. It was way too early to deal with this. However, barely ten seconds had passed before her phone rang again. Somehow, the ringtone seemed almost as obnoxious as the person calling. Shaw elected to ignore it. However, as it continued ringing at her relentlessly, Shaw felt her nerves grating. Finally, the phone was silenced. Shaw listened for what must have been a full minute before settling back down to sleep, glad – if not a little disappointed – that the caller had given up so quickly. Closing her eyes, she sighed into the pillow, allowing her irritation and stress to flow out of her lungs and let herself doze. Not five seconds later, the ringtone blared from her phone again. Unable to contain her frustration anymore, she whipped the covers off and lunged for the phone, jamming it against her ear and squeezing tightly, imagining the device was the caller's neck.

"What do you want at this hour?" she demanded, the last vestiges of sleep disappearing from her brain. She knew she'd never be able to relax until this was dealt with now.

"Now you're just being rude," said the voice, and Shaw could swear she could hear the smirk. "Did I wake you?" asked Root innocently. Shaw bit back an angry retort, knowing it was the reaction Root wanted.

"Yes," Shaw deadpanned. "You're the only person crazy enough to be up right now, unless somebody's dying." She paused for a second. "Is somebody dying?" she added, concern gripping her for a moment as she knelt on her mattress in her shorts and tank top.

"Are you concerned about my welfare, Sameen?" asked Root suggestively.

"No. I just don't want someone else to have the satisfaction of wiping that smirk off your face," Shaw responded, her grip on the phone still tight enough to make her fingers ache. Another light chuckle sounded over the phone, making Shaw's lips purse in irritation.

"You care about me," said Root, her chipper tone frying Shaw's nerves. "Admit it and I'll let you sleep."

Shaw rolled her eyes and knew that she was stuck. She wanted to sleep, to have this crazy woman leave her alone until Shaw had the energy to deal with her. But her pride got in her way.

"I knew it," said Root with a laugh.

"I didn't say anything," growled Shaw, wondering if Root had ever tried diagnosing herself while she was pretending to be Caroline Turing, the psychologist.

"You didn't have to."

Shaw took the phone away from her ear, punching the pillow with her left hand, letting out some of her anger before raising it again, trying to keep the weary tone from her voice.

"Tell me what you want or I'm hanging up," she stated, glaring at the darkness in her room. How could the hacker so easily get under her skin? The worst part was that she couldn't even shoot her, for all the trouble Root had given her. She remembered the satisfaction of punching her in the face and used that as an anchor as Root sighed from the other end of the line.

"I just have one small favour to ask. Nothing too taxing, I promise."

Shaw let out a frustrated groan, loud enough for Root to hear it.

"What is it?" she asked, resigned to her fate. Even if she hung up, she'd have a tiny, niggling worry at the back of her mind. She wondered how people functioned with their loud, out of control emotions all the time. How Root managed to be the disciple of the Machine and have that know-it-all chattering away to her all hours of the day, Shaw would never know. That was true devotion.

"Let me in? It's freezing out here," said Root. Now that Shaw's brain was functioning a little better, she could hear the tell-tale chatter of teeth.

Shaw blinked, surprised at the odd request.

"Come again?" she asked, wondering what the hell the hacker was talking about. She heard a chortle from the other end of the line, quickly followed by a hiss of pain, which Root seemed to be trying to hide.

"Well, if you insist," replied Root in a voice dripping with suggestion and innuendo. Shaw ignored the quip and climbed off of her bed, crossing to the window in a few strides and pulled back the thin curtains, scanning the street below. The road was quiet, full of parked cars that glistened in the orange light of the streetlamps. And there, at the front steps of her apartment building was a woman wearing a black coat and holding a phone to her ear. She looked up, brown tresses cascading over her shoulders and smiled when she saw Shaw, giving her a small wave with her left hand, still clutching her phone. Her right arm hung limply by her side. Shaw did not return the wave.

"Why are you outside my apartment?" asked Shaw, wondering why she really bothered now. She might as well just roll with the crazy.

"I have a tiny problem to take care of," she replied, still gazing up at Shaw. The grin widened across her face. "It requires your skilled hands –"

"Stop," ordered Shaw, glaring down at the hacker, who tilted her head, signifying she was amused but backing down. Shaw was silent for a few moments, observing the woman below as her mind whirred, trying to plot out the best course of action. Root was crazy. It was too early for this. But there was something about the way Root held herself as she gazed up at Shaw, her face betraying nothing, but her eyes sparkled slightly, her face slightly taut with concealed pain. Coupled with how she sounded on the phone – as irritating as ever but with a tense edge to her words, her happy tone somewhat forced – Shaw could feel a tiny flutter of anxiety. She was sure her concern had started to show on her face as Root smiled up at her, a cloud of fog streaming out of her mouth in the cold air.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Root triumphantly before disappearing inside and hanging up the phone. Shaw stared at the device in her hand like it was a bomb. Had Root really just invited herself up here? Not that Shaw would have left her out in the cold, as much as she hated to admit it. Especially now she suspected the hacker was injured. This didn't change the fact that this was going to be a long night. Root could just be so irritating most, if not all, of the time.

Root wore a self-satisfied smirk as she awkwardly pulled open the door with her left hand. Her right bicep had been torn open from the elbow to her shoulder by a thick shard of glass from her stolen car's windshield. She had managed to escape the car and patch herself up as best she could – with newspaper, of all things – but she needed medical attention. She would much rather visit Shaw than go to a hospital, where there would be questions and people she didn't like. Holding her tense forearm steady by her side, she jogged up the stairs, ignoring the pain on the left side of her face. It was probably just bruised. She didn't know exactly what state she was in, though she had tried to tidy herself up on the way over. Her arm was oozing blood under the newspaper she had lifted from a 24/7 shop. But it wasn't going to kill her any time soon, and other than a few scrapes and bruises, she was fine as far as she could tell. Finally, she reached Shaw's apartment – of course she knew where it was. She located the correct door and knocked with her good hand, plastering a wide smile across her lips.

Shaw heard the knock about half a minute after Root had hung up. She crossed her apartment while retying her messy ponytail, switching on the lights as she went and pulled open her front door, confident in the knowledge that her gun sat five strides away, safe under her pillow. But she had a feeling that with Root, she didn't need it. Not tonight anyway.

"Good morning," greeted Root cheerily as she leant against the doorframe with her good shoulder. Shaw physically winced at the brightness of her demeanour, wondering how a woman could be so chipper even when injured. Upon close inspection, Root seemed to have been through quite an ordeal. The left side of her face had the beginnings of a bad bruise, along with various cuts peppering her pale skin. Her hair was matted and covered in dust or dirt.

"What have you gotten yourself into now?" asked Shaw, stepping back to admit Root into her home. Root brushed past her and immediately headed to the couch, where she settled down, propping her feet on the coffee table and folding her left arm across her body – her right arm remained by her side, the fingers of her good hand brushing her bicep softly. Shaw closed the door and stood opposite her uninvited guest, arms folded and a scowl on her face. They remained quiet for a moment, simply looking at each other. Finally, Shaw's patience was worn thin.

"What do you need?" she inquired, hoping to get a straight answer this time. Root nodded, sitting up and moving her left hand to unbutton her coat.

"Your skill as a doctor," Root replied as she struggled to pull off her coat. Shaw watched, amused. She was waiting for the hacker to ask for help. Only then would she lend her assistance. After all she'd put up with from the maniac, it was only right she gets to tease the hacker once in a while. Root winced as she tried to manoeuvre her injured arm free before looking up at Shaw.

"Aren't you going to take my coat? I am a guest, after all," she smiled, her voice dripping with sweetness and honey, laced with the innocence she feigned so well.

"Uninvited guest," corrected Shaw gruffly, but nevertheless, she circled around the sofa and gently eased Root's arm free of the sodden sleeve – Shaw could smell congealing blood on the material. The hacker's clothes smelled a little of smoke, her hair coated in dust particles and matted with blood in places – since Shaw could see no wound, she assumed the blood was from sweeping the hair out of her face with a bloody hand. Dumping Root's coat on the kitchen unit, she fetched a basin and filled it with warm, soapy water and sat down next to Root, who was prying wads of balled up newspaper off of her wound. The woman's black, short-sleeved top made accessing the wound easy – Shaw didn't relish the idea of stitching Root back together with her top off, though somehow she didn't think the hacker would mind that at all. Shaw gently smacked Root's hand away before shifting closer and peering at the wound, tossing the last of the newspaper onto the table.

"It's deep. It'll need stitches," she mused aloud as she dipped her cloth into the basin and began cleaning the messy, oozing cut.

"More needles. Fantastic," sighed Root, hissing in pain from time to time. Root had been vague about what had happened, but Shaw knew it couldn't have been fun being tortured like that, even for someone who claimed to enjoy it.

"I'll be quick," replied Shaw, unable to think of anything else that might help.

"Thank you," replied Root, and for once, she seemed genuine. Shaw glanced up from the wound, the pair of tweezers held steady in her hand as she peered at Root's face. The woman's brown hair hung limply over her face like a curtain as she stared at the floor, her good hand clenched against the pain.

"I can get you some painkillers if you want –"

"Just get it done," requested Root quickly. Shaw could see that Root's eyes were shut tightly through the locks of hair. "Please," she added, glancing up at Shaw with an apologetic, almost pleading look.

"If you insist," shrugged Shaw.

Root made no attempt to start a conversation while Shaw worked away. The prospect of having another needle near her was daunting, even if the needle was being held by Shaw, who was the one person she could trust with this kind of procedure. Shaw allowed the silence, concentrating as she finished cleaning the wound and disinfecting it. Only when she had threaded the needle and was holding it above Root's skin did Shaw speak.

"I'm about to start now. It will hurt," she warned.

"Like it wasn't already – OW!" cried Root as Shaw forced the needle through her skin.

"It's okay," said Shaw, noting Root's knuckles were now pure white and shaking. Root nodded, her lips clamped shut, suppressing a cry of pain. She could feel Shaw's warm fingers working across her skin with great and surprising tenderness and care, so she focused on that, trying to block out the pain. She could also feel Shaw's knee brushing her own. Root had a feeling the contact, which had not been there until the needle had punctured her flesh, was an attempt at comfort, since both Shaw's hands were busy. Root smiled, knowing that this might not be the case but believed it anyway.

"You going to tell me how you managed to mess up your arm?" said Shaw quietly as she worked. Glad of the distraction, though not quite so pleased with the topic, she mulled over her answer.

"She had a job for me," she replied vaguely, resisting the urge to shrug.

"Did She mention your arm would be cut up in the process?" asked Shaw before she could think. Root couldn't resist jumping on this question.

"Are you worried she'll get me killed, Shaw?" Root winced as Shaw yanked the needle a little harder than was completely necessary. Shaw didn't reply.

"All done," said Shaw finally, packing away her equipment to be dealt with later.

"This is a work of art," smirked Root, peering at her stitches curiously.

"Hardly," replied Shaw quickly, unaccustomed to compliments about her handiwork. Gently, she placed a sheet of gauze over the stitches and taped it into place to cover the wound.

"Keep it dry," she ordered, shaking her stiff hands. Shaw sighed, glad she could relax now and plonked her feet on the table, closing her eyes for a moment. Root shifted on the couch, daring to stretch her legs over Shaw's as she rested her head against the arm of the sofa. Shaw turned to her slowly, her eyes narrow, caught between annoyance and slight awe that Root had the guts to continue pissing her off. Root smirked back, her face still slightly tense from the pain in her arm. Shaw decided she was too tired to fight a losing battle with the hacker and simply yanked the woman's dirty boots off before they stained her sofa cushions.

"Car crash," said Root suddenly, somewhat amused by Shaw's actions, and a little surprised she hadn't been threatened yet.

"What?" groaned Shaw irritably, refusing to open her eyes as she rested her hands behind her head and tried to sleep. She could feel root shifting again, trying to get comfy.

"She asked me to find someone. Long story short, they got into a car and I had to stop them."

"So you crashed your car into them?"

"I knew what I was doing," retorted Root defensively, lightly digging her socked heel into Shaw's leg.

"Clearly," said Shaw sarcastically, not moving from her position. Root chuckled as she shifted, twisting so she was lying on her good side, her eyes still lingering on Shaw. They lapsed into an almost comfortable silence. Shaw was glad of it. Whenever Root opened her mouth, the urge to punch her returned. But Shaw knew that she would feel a twinge of guilt if she hit Root when she was injured. When they first met, it definitely wouldn't have been a problem at all. But now, she found a tiny flutter of _something_, some strange, new feeling whenever Root was around. It was irritating, but Shaw hid it well. She hid anything well. But Root seemed to realise that Shaw wouldn't kill her. And she constantly tortured Shaw with that fact, that Shaw might actually miss the hacker occasionally. Soon enough, Shaw had drifted off to sleep, her thoughts drifting around one particular word: Root.

Root's smirk slid off her face, replaced with a genuinely warm smile as she watched Shaw's breathing slow. Soon, she was asleep. Root settled down, using her good arm as a pillow and decided to try and get some sleep too. She had woken Shaw once, she didn't really want to again. Her eyes fluttered closed, her arm still throbbing, but she had had worse. A stream of words sounded in her ear, causing Root to grin. It was comforting to know that She was talking to her. Not even about a mission this time. The Machine was actually checking up on her. Root sighed contentedly as she curled up a little, shifting her legs. She felt a weight across her legs.

Root woke up in a bit of a daze. She didn't have a home, so she was used to staring up at unfamiliar ceilings. Usually, She would just tell Root where was a safe place to sleep before waking her up when it was time to move on. She even ensured Root ate well during the day. This morning, however, she had woken up to silence. A familiar presence was near her, coupled with a comfortingly familiar scent. Root remembered Her last orders were to stay with Shaw and rest until her arm was better. Shaw. Root twisted onto her back, blinking blearily, trying to clear her hazy vision. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating Shaw's small form next to her on the sofa. Shaw was stretched out, her feet crossed at the ankle on the coffee table. Root's legs rested comfortably on Shaw's lap, her hand resting on Root's calf. Shaw had slumped in the night, her back sliding down the cushions and lolling to the side. Root was caught – should she move? No, she didn't want to wake Shaw _again_. Although, seeing Shaw's face in their close proximity would be priceless. No, she could tease Shaw when the woman was fully rested and maybe less irritable.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Well, hello there. This story has gotten some pretty good feedback so I'm continuing with it. I hope you enjoy it, I'll add in some action soon and it'll get more interesting. Anyway, forgive any mistakes I've missed and leave a review if you like. Thanks to all the people who reviewed the last chapter. You lot made my day.

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Eyes fluttering tiredly, Shaw awoke with a groan. She found herself lying uncomfortably on the sofa – she must have dozed off watching TV last night. Stretching slightly, aware of her stiff neck, she found an unfamiliar weight on her legs. Stifling a yawn, she lazily drew her eyes to her lap where her hand rested on a pair of legs.

"What?" Shaw grunted, barely able to keep her eyes open. A little more alert now, she slowly took in the figure lying half on top of her. The long, slender legs were clad in dark jeans that were smeared with dirt and dust. The black top was in a similar state. Two arms were curled into the woman's chest, her head resting on the arm of the chair. The pale face looked more peaceful than Shaw had ever seen. It was hard to believe that Root was anything more than some ordinary woman, with a job and friends and a normal life. Shaw began to move, pausing as a thought struck her. What if she woke her guest? Most of Shaw wanted to just shove her legs off – it was her house, her personal space the woman was intruding on. But she also didn't want to disturb her. She'd be in pain… And therefore probably in a bad mood and _very_ irritating, Shaw thought quickly. Unconsciously, her grip had tightened on Root's leg as she lazily gazed at the hacker. A strand of brown hair hung over Root's pale face, which was still smeared in places with dried blood and dirt. With barely a thought, Shaw reached out and brushed her fingers gently – in the same way one would stroke something delicate and breakable – across Root's forehead, tucking the lock behind Root's ear, feeling the faint scar beneath her fingertips. Before Shaw could think about what she was doing, she froze. Root's eyes shot open, looking straight up at her with no hint of tiredness. A wide, malicious grin blossomed across her lips, pleased to have caught Shaw in the act. Shaw's eyes widened in horror. Now, a gun had been jammed in her face more times than Shaw could count, and each time, she had never frozen like this. Her mind was constantly whirring with working out her next move, or planning her escape. But now, she would rather be faced with Root holding a taser over her again than this.

"Sameen…" chimed Root as Shaw grimaced, still staring down at Root's fathomless dark eyes with a mixture of dread and anger. Still, she was unable to react. She could punch her – that would be a good distraction. But Root was injured, so that would cause even more guilt that Shaw didn't need right now. Maybe the best way was to just be casual. Yes, shrug it off and play it cool. But she knew Root would continue on relentlessly about this moment until something even more embarrassing happened. Shaw pursed her lips, frowning at just the thought of Root torturing her with this.

"Daydreaming about me, Shaw?" asked Root suggestively, looking up at her. Shaw realised that in her mild internal panic, her hand had remained by Root's ear and their faces were slightly closer than the norm for a pair of… friends? Were they even friends?

Shaw snapped out of her daze, withdrawing her hand and leaping to her feet. Root was not expecting this sudden movement and the lower half of her body was thrown from Shaw's lap and onto the floor, her ankle knocking against the table with a loud thud. The hacker was forced to claw at the table with her good hand to stop herself falling off completely and potentially damaging her already wounded arm.

"Well, that's rude," she shot venomously over the back of the sofa as Shaw hurried into the kitchen. _Deny it_, Shaw thought. _Deny everything._

"You're one to talk," Shaw retorted as she slammed the cupboard doors, searching for distraction and food. "Tasering me twice so far."

"You punched me!" replied Root, sitting up against the arm of the sofa, her knees curled up to her chest, her good arm wrapped around them, her fingertips subtly massaging her left ankle.

"Once!" Shaw hissed over the breakfast bar, glaring at Root, who grinned in reply. "But I'm _dying_ for a second try," Shaw added.

Root laughed lightly. "Luckily for you," she said, her voice dropping lower. "I like it rough." Shaw banged a mug into the counter and fumed as she made herself some coffee. Her eye twitched slightly, the weight of the hacker's gaze on her back.

Root watched in amusement as Shaw rattled noisily about the kitchen. Root had expertly driven the nail into the crack in Shaw's armour. Root had done it mainly just to get one up on Shaw, but catching her in such an endearing moment was truly worth Shaw's ire. The normally detached woman seemed so gentle and caring – Root was glad she had been one of the probable few to witness it. The Machine was quiet in her ear, indicating Root should stay where she was. Root was glad of it. Running around all the time left her tired. It was also lonely. Usually it didn't matter – she had Her. But sometimes she missed having a rest. Another loud bang roused her from her thoughts as Shaw shut another cupboard door a lot harder than was necessary. Root grinned again – this game was far too amusing. The only downside was that Shaw would probably be in a bad mood all day now. But it was just too fun to keep ribbing the woman until she cracked. In Root's mind, Shaw's outbursts were akin to bright fireworks – a beautiful, loud explosion of emotion that had pent up and festered in the normally stoic Shaw.

"So violent," she drawled, aware that she was definitely pushing the big red button with 'Danger' scrawled across it in big letters. Shaw refused to look at her, grumpily filling the somehow still intact mug with rich, brown coffee. "Imagine how great that passion would be in other…" Root smirked, searching for the correct word, watching Shaw carefully. "_Activities_…" Root was forced to bite down a laugh as Shaw slammed her coffee pot down onto the counter so hard Root was sure the handle was going to come off. Root stared back devilishly as Shaw glared at her, nostrils flared and knuckles glowing white as they clenched.

"Have I plucked a nerve?" enquired Root innocently.

"Shut up," snapped Shaw, downing a noisy gulp of coffee as she lingered in the kitchen. She didn't know if being in close proximity to the hacker would be a sensible idea right now. _Was it ever?_ she wondered absently. She snapped back to the present when Root winced as she moved her arm, running a hand through her hair with a grimace.

"I must be a mess," Root mused aloud, threading a strand of hair through her fingers and inspecting it.

"Yes, you are," replied Shaw over the rim of her coffee mug. Root chuckled before hissing in pain as she attempted to stand. Shaw watched her like a hawk from over the counter as Root carefully rose to her feet, pausing for a moment before she took a halting stop forwards. "Sit," ordered Shaw as soon as Root began to falter, the hacker's left hand shooting out and latching onto the back of the sofa. She gripped it tightly as her face flashed in pain for a second, her arrogant façade crumbling around the edges.

"I'm fine," insisted Root, though her performance wasn't convincing anyone. Taking another step in spite of Shaw's protests, the hacker felt pain explode in her left ankle when even a tiny amount of weight was placed upon it. Before Root could realise her error, she dropped like a stone. Shaw moved fast, dropping her cup carelessly onto the unit and dived to Root, catching her good arm and looping her other arm around Root's waist. Her fingers accidentally slipped beneath Root's top as she struggled to steady her.

"You're not fine," growled Shaw, easing Root back to the sofa and pushing her down onto the cushions carefully. Root looked a little abashed. For once, she didn't make any comments, despite their physical proximity. Shaw noted this fact, growing slightly more concerned at her abnormal behaviour as she perched on the edge of the sofa and tapped Root's left knee.

"Can I have a look?" asked Shaw. Root settled herself, cradling her injured arm over her chest and nodded. Root seemed strangely vulnerable at the moment. It was an odd sight. Shaw decided to let it go as she gripped Root's left foot and slowly extended it, her eyes flicking to the hacker's face every few seconds to gauge her reaction. Root remained quiet, resting her head on her knee and watched Shaw. As carefully as she could, Shaw eased Root's black sock from her foot, casting it to the floor and rolling her jeans leg up to reveal the source of the problem.

"Is it bad?" asked Root, a slight break in her voice. Shaw continued assessing the wound for a moment. Root's ankle was swollen; the skin tinged purple but Shaw couldn't see any breakages. Perhaps a twist or sprain. It wasn't nice to look at, but it wasn't too bad.

"No," decided Shaw, tapping the skin gently to gauge the extent of the damage. Root's lip twitched but she made no noise. "It's bruised, maybe twisted," she reported, biting her lip for a moment. Had she caused this? When she stood up so carelessly, had she made it worse? She looked up from her ankle to see Root tilt her head, her expression unreadable.

"Uhm," said Shaw, running a hand over her hair, her fingers brushing against the band holding her ponytail in place. "I'll…" Shaw wasn't entirely sure what she was feeling. Other people were not this complicated. "I'll get you some ice," she said quickly, shooting to her feet but this time, she placed Root's foot onto the sofa cushion before stomping into the kitchen.

"It wasn't you," called Root into the kitchen after some intense internal debating. Option One: she could let Shaw feel guilty about potentially hurting her. But Root was discovering there was a line forming in her games, a line that seemed to apply to Shaw and Shaw else was fair game – she would do what she liked. But Shaw… Things seemed more… _blurred_. So Root was left with the less fun Option Two.

"What?" snapped Shaw, ploughing back from the kitchen and kneeling next to Root – pointedly not looking at Root in the eye – and wrapped a towel around the frozen bag of peas she had procured from the freezer. She gingerly placed the make-shift ice pack onto Root's ankle. Root, knowing full well she was risking her health, reached out and placed her hand over Shaw's. Shaw's eyes closed sharply, her entire body stiffening as she fought the urge to back off and run. Amidst her inner turmoil, she felt Root's fingers squeeze her hand slightly, the warmth combating the cold seeping through her skin from the frozen peas. Exhaling slowly, she opened her eyes and gradually allowed her gaze to travel from their hands to Root's knee, lingering for a moment before climbing to Root's face. The smile there took her by surprise. For once, it was not a suggestive, malicious smirk or grin. Instead, her eyes crinkled slightly, her lips forming a genuine, fond, warm expression that seemed to somehow light up her pale face. Shaw found she couldn't return it.

"My ankle was already sore last night," said Root quietly, no trace of teasing in her soft voice. "While you didn't help this morning," she added with a gentle squeeze of Shaw's hand to indicate she was joking. "You didn't make it worse." Root's fingers lingered on Shaw's for a few moments. She knew Shaw was searching for a way out, a way to downplay this situation. And Root would let her. She was patient. Root withdrew her hand and Shaw snatched her own away, standing and folding her arms immediately. Root leaned back, amused that Shaw was so predictable.

"Like I was worried," shrugged Shaw. "You need to fix your face."

Root grinned, resting her left elbow on the armrest, wiggling her toes slowly to see how much movement she could get from her damaged foot.

"Charming as ever," she commented loudly as Shaw disappeared into the kitchen again. The reply was a damp cloth to the face, striking her on the nose and falling into her lap. "Thanks," she said sarcastically, picking it up and dabbing at her face. Her cheek stung with every contact, a few other areas of her face aching. The cloth came away with blood smears on it. Shaw knelt on the floor, placing a fresh cup of steaming coffee on the table and nursing another to her chest, swinging her legs in front of her and crossing them over.

"Is that for me?" asked Root, surprised. Shaw nodded. "Is it poisoned?"

"Drink it and see," grumbled Shaw. Root postponed her vain attempts to clean her face without a mirror and tossed the cloth at her companion. Shaw batted the material away before it hit her as Root reached for her coffee, using as little movement as possible. Sipping the hot liquid, she was grateful. The smell alone woke her up a little more.

"Good coffee," she commented. Shaw nodded, content to stay quiet as she drank her coffee. Root took another gulp, glad her dry throat was finally quenched. She leaned forwards and tapped Shaw on the head. "Right. Help me with my face."

Shaw arched an eyebrow, looking up at the hacker. "Do it yourself," she replied hastily. "It's your face."

"You want it fixed, you do it. I can't see it anyway," argued Root. Shaw set down her coffee cup with a muttered curse and took the cloth, kneeling up so she was nearly eye-level with the other brunette. Holding Root's face steady with her left hand, she began wiping away the grime, avoiding the cuts and bruises as she worked away. Her mind began to wander in the silence, unaware that Root was watching her intently. Root made things interesting but complicated. She was much more likely to be shot in Root's company. That made things interesting, at least. But Shaw, who was never really much of a feelings person, was beginning to suspect that she might be developing more… confusing feelings than she had before. And this fact irritated her. She had gotten on just fine with minimal attachments. It wasn't that she didn't love anyone; just that her version of love didn't really feel the same as what other people described. If Finch or Reese were hurt by someone, Shaw would kill them. No hesitation. If Bear was the target, the perpetrator would be violently scalped and then killed. Root… She didn't know. It wasn't something she thought about often. Now that she had, Shaw realised that she really did not know at all. Killing would probably be involved. But her first instinct upon seeing Root on her doorstep was not to kill whoever had caused it, but to look after the injured woman. To take in the stray cat who was always popping by unannounced and mewing at her for attention. Shaw would nurse her back to health and she'd probably go off by herself again. Maybe Root would return when she was hungry. But occasionally, strays became constant guests – guests who mooch food and live rent-free – and Shaw would admit that Root would be the most god-awfully irritating room-mate ever. _Why the hell are you even thinking about this?_she wondered, bringing her train of thought to a complete stop.

"That's a bruise," said Root sharply, biting back a cry as Shaw cleansed her face, the slightly distracted woman straying into the bruised area of Root's face.

"Wuss," Shaw replied coolly but she took care to avoid it. "You can shower once you can stand."

Root nodded, scratching an itch on her scalp. Shaw leaned up and began running the cloth over Root's hair, doing her best to get rid of the dirt. She could't get it all, but it would be enough until Root was well enough to stand in a shower. Shaw was definitely not helping her shower. Not a chance. Root cleared her throat after a short silence elapsed between them. "So what are you doing for the day?" she asked nonchalantly, though her neutral tone took more effort than normal. When Shaw had reached up to clean her hair, the woman hadn't seemed to have noticed the lack of space between them. Root was tempted to lean her forehead against Shaw's chest, just below her clavicle. She desperately wanted to – she needed the comfort more than anything else – but Shaw would probably get a fright and perhaps snap Root's neck from shock. Root was perfectly happy with all her body parts aligned correctly for the moment. Shaw could probably rearrange all of her bones if she wanted to. She eyed Shaw as the woman pulled away, gulping a mouthful of coffee as she shrugged, checking her phone in her shorts pocket.

"Nobody needs me for the moment, so I'm going to make sure you don't kill yourself trying to walk to the fridge or something," Shaw grumbled in reply, settling back on the floor with her legs crossed.

"So I've got you all to myself all day?" asked Root flirtatiously, arching an eyebrow. Shaw sneered sarcastically, shifting Root's foot and heaving herself up onto the sofa, grabbing the remote from the table and switching on the TV, unconsciously settling Root's foot on her lap. Root frowned, surprised yet pleased.

"I can put you in pain with just a tap of my finger," Shaw grunted without looking at Root, flicking through the channels in search of something halfway decent to watch. As she did so, she seemed to almost _sense_ Root's innuendo before she said it. Tilting her head slightly, she could see Root's signature 'I'm-going-to-make-a-rude-innuendo' grin.

"Don't…" sighed Shaw, rolling her eyes heavenwards, knowing it would make no difference.

"You could make me _scream_ –"

"Stop," snapped Shaw, but with less hostility than usual. Root braced herself, preparing for the inevitable pain to shoot through her leg – she had been warned, after all. But Shaw simply let a small smile creep onto her face, placing her hand lightly on Root's shin, far from the bruising and focused on her program.

"Scream so hard your voice dies," Shaw muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Root to hear.

"What was that?" asked Root, not quite sure what she had just heard.

"Nothing important," replied Shaw casually. _Two can play at this game_, she thought as Root turned to the TV with a perplexed expression.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, to everyone who took time out of their day to say such nice things. And thanks to everyone who reads this and likes it. I hope you enjoy this one, and I swear there is a plot forming so bear with. If I've missed a few mistakes, please do forgive those.

* * *

"I think it was the doctor," mused Root, her eyes shifting from the TV screen to Shaw.

"But the woman had more motive. And opportunity," countered Shaw, tilting her head left to look at the brunette lying on the sofa beside her. The hacker's legs were still stretched over Shaw's, with the latter woman holding a frozen bag of some kind of food she discovered in her freezer once the peas had melted against Root's ankle. The swelling had gone down significantly after a few hours. The clock indicated that it was a few minutes past twelve in the afternoon. They had been watching a marathon of crime dramas since the morning. After the first fifteen minutes of silence during the first episode they watched, Root had voiced her opinion on who she thought the killer was. Shaw saw her logic in her choice, but disagreed. This gradually turned into a competition to see who could get the most right. So far, Root was winning 4 – 3 over Shaw, who was determined to get the next one. She had carefully taken into account every little detail she could remember as the plot unfolded. She was so focused, her lips pursed as she weighed up all the new information the detectives were discovering, that she didn't notice Root watching _her_ more often than the TV.

Root focused on Shaw's eyes, imagining she could see through her dark brown eyes and into the inner workings of her brain. Shaw was more mysterious than most people, more of an enigma. That drew Root to her, a challenge, a puzzle to solve. She watched Shaw's eyebrows pull down into a small frown as Root continued to gaze at her. Catching herself, Root's face slid into its familiar smug smirk.

"The doctor had access to the medication. It would have been easy to switch them for something lethal."

"But that's too obvious. Remember the woman is his wife, so she could have switched them. The woman. And the doctor could have picked something more discreet, having the medical knowledge to have a nice, tidy murder. This seemed sloppy. The woman. Definitely," grinned Shaw, squeezing Root's shin gently. Root yielded, turning back to the TV for the crucial final fifteen minutes that would determine the winner. The warm hand on her leg felt nice, as did the cup of tea Shaw had made for her when she asked politely, for once. Root had insisted on making it herself, sure that she could walk around now that the swelling had gone down, but Shaw would not relent. Root had to admit that this domestic situation was very much to her liking, surprisingly. The Machine chirped in her ear a few times, but only to ensure she was okay. Her orders were still to remain where she was, and Root was content with that. There were worse places to be. And worse company.

"You want to bet?" bated Root, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. Shaw glanced at her sharply, her teeth pressing onto her bottom lip.

"What are we betting?" asked Shaw suspiciously, wondering if this was indeed a good idea. True, she trusted Root more than she used to and, admittedly, more than she should, but she wasn't about to trust the hacker blindly. Very often. Root quirked an eyebrow, thinking for a moment.

"Whoever loses has to do whatever the winner asks," smirked Root finally, watching Shaw's face closely. Shaw mulled it over. This was definitely playing with fire, she decided. The oh so familiar grin forming on Root's lips was testament to that. But the danger was part of the fun. Go hard or go home. Shaw tended to deal only in extremes. "Nothing illegal," added Root, holding up her good hand. Shaw raised an eyebrow and Root rolled her eyes. "And nothing Harold would frown upon," she almost sulked, sounding disappointed. "That leaves out a lot of fun things, unfortunately."

Shaw was still not convinced. "You're going to twist this," said Shaw, waving a finger at her. "You've seen this before. Or She's whispering in your ear."

Root let out a short laugh. "I've never seen this before, I swear," replied Root truthfully. "I've never had much time for television. And She hasn't said anything for a while. Besides, if it was a sure thing that I would win, then this would be no fun."

"Alright then," said Shaw, throwing caution to the wind. "Fine."

"Excellent." Root held out her good hand to Shaw, who took it after a moment, a firm shake sealing the deal.

As the credits for the episodes rolled past, Root turned to Shaw, attempting to suppress a smile as Shaw glared at the screen, anger seeming to pour off of her in waves.

"I told –" Root started before Shaw's head whipped around, her terrifying glare focused on the hacker. Shaw knew that if she turned this glare on almost anyone else, they'd cower in fear. But, disappointingly, Root's smile only grew wider.

"_Don't. _Say. Another. _Word_," growled Shaw, not moving from her position – leaning forwards over Root's legs in anticipation and to focus more fully on the TV. She knew Root would tease her about this for the next hour. The marathon had now finished. Root had won their competition and their bet.

"...You so," finished Root quickly, and then laughed with delight when Shaw's hand clenched over her shin.

"Did the Machine help you at all?" asked Shaw, eyes narrowed. "Were you cheating?"

"Nope. I'm just better than you," grinned Root. Shaw rolled her eyes and settled back against the sofa cushions, defeated. Grabbing the remote, she searched for something else to pass the next few hours. Root turned so that her back was leaning against the arm of the chair, facing Shaw, who moved her hand to steady the makeshift ice-pack on her leg. She waited until Root was settled comfortably before she carefully replaced it, eyeing the angry looking bruise. Root felt a twinge of pain as the pack touched her skin but the chill soon soothed it.

"Technically," said Shaw slowly. "Even though the doctor killed the original victim, the woman still killed that other guy. We never specified who they had to murder." Shaw felt her lips twitch upwards as Root looked surprised, but content.

"Fair enough," shrugged the woman before wincing as her arm stung. She flashed Shaw a quick smile to assure her she was okay, having seen the beginnings of a smile suddenly fall from the other woman's face. "I'm in a generous mood. We'll both do something the other wants then." Root flexed her fingers of her right hand, hissing quietly as her stiff muscles ached and her cut throbbed. "Bearing in mind I am injured, so the list of things I can do is limited."

Shaw rolled her eyes as she seemed to just sense Root's innuendos before they happened like some pointless superpower. "Though I'm sure we could work around it if –"

"Stop," ordered Shaw sternly, but with a small grin. Even when she was injured, or if they were in grave peril, Root was relentless in her flirtation. The fact that Shaw seemed to be the only recipient of such attention was beginning to even flatter her a little. Root noted the grin, becoming perplexed. Shaw returned her attention to Root's ankle, lifting it gently into a suitable position on her lap before lifting off the ice pack and inspecting it. It was looking much better than the night before, and Shaw was satisfied with the progress so far. "That's my use of the bet," she continued, replacing the pack. "You stop with the whole irritating, suggestive bullshit."

Root chortled. "I can give you five hours, no more," she replied, her voice laced with her pleased laugh. "It's a habit," she added.

"Until evening then," compromised Shaw.

"Done," chimed Root.

"Okay, what's yours?"

Root's mind had been turning over all the possibilities, all the things she could make Shaw do to mortally embarrass herself for Root's amusement, or even things solely for her pleasure. But still, she couldn't quite decide on one. It couldn't be too outrageous, as boring as that was. Coming up with the perfect plan would take time.

"I'll save mine for later," Root said thoughtfully. "I'll wait until the right time to use it."

Alarm bells blared in Shaw's mind at this. "I think I have a really bad feeling about this," said Shaw, a little apprehensively, seeing the mischievous glint in her eyes.

"You should," nodded Root.

"… I keep telling you I'm fine –" Root waved away Shaw's concern as she clung to the kitchen counter tightly with her left hand, her weight solely on her right leg.

"Sit your ass back down before I pick you up and put you back myself!" ordered Shaw, pointing to the sofa. Root opened her mouth to respond, an impish look of delight on her face. "No!" snapped Shaw, cutting her off before a sound escaped her lips. Shaw approached her from the bathroom, steam wafting around in her wake as she jabbed a finger onto Root's chest, just below her clavicle. "You still have another three hours before you can make a stupid comment!"

Root dipped her head, glanced downwards and taking in Shaw's slightly damp tank top and pair of black sweats that she had changed into after her shower. They clung to the patches of skin that Shaw had failed to dry before she left the bathroom. Somehow, whether it was because she had spent so long in the hacker's company that she found her to be somewhat predictable by now, or she was just intuitive, Shaw found cause to leap out of the shower, quickly towel herself down and throw on her clothes. Despite strict orders not to move from the sofa, Root had hauled herself to her feet and was testing out her leg. She wasn't used to staying still for long, even sitting still. Unless she had a computer, that is. Since she didn't, and she didn't want to search Shaw's things to find one, hack in and find something to do, she decided to get some food. Her hunger had been growing for the last few hours, but she didn't really notice until now. However, venturing to the kitchen took longer than expected, considering the fact that her left leg could support her weight for a mere second, and with a sharp jolt of pain whenever she took a step. As well as this, she couldn't move her right arm to grip things easily, so she hobbled around the couch, leaning heavily on the low table and the wall, then the counter. Sweat was beginning to glisten on her forehead when she heard the shower stop. _Abort, abort, abort_, she thought, biting her lip in frustration. Rolling her eyes, she considered the path back to the sofa. If she could manage to leap over the back of the sofa, she might make it. It was only a few strides, for God's sake. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. And Shaw wasn't going to hurt her, not when she was genuinely in pain. So she propped herself up against the counter, trying to look nonchalant, despite the throbbing pain in her arm, the dull ache in her ankle. Now she stood with Shaw's glowering face barely a few inches away. Time for plan B – diversion.

"Worried about me again, Shaw?" she asked innocently with a knowing smile. Without missing a beat, Shaw withdrew, folding her arms and glaring.

"I don't want you to collapse on my carpet and get blood everywhere."

"Ah, well, it _is_ a lovely carpet, I'll admit," conceded Root in mock seriousness. Glancing down, Shaw followed her gaze to the greyish-beige, worn floor. "In all its dull, lifeless glory."

"Shut up," snapped Shaw. "Sofa." Root didn't move, but tilted her head, tapping her fingers unconsciously against the counter in a steady rhythm, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "_Now_," ordered Shaw in a menacing tone.

"Can I at least grab a snack first?" asked Root, foregoing the potential banter for the sake of her near-growling stomach.

"I'll get you something. Go sit down."

"You don't have t –" started Root, but was rudely interrupted by a pan being slammed onto the cooker.

"Sit," repeated Shaw, grabbing a pancake mix from her cupboard. She cast a glance over her shoulder. Root stood by the counter, her eyes fixed on Shaw like the other woman was a puzzle to solve. "_Please_," added Shaw with a sigh, turning back to the frying pan. "Before you hurt yourself."

"If – If you insist," said Root quietly. The stutter was barely detectable, but Shaw noticed. She heard Root shuffling back to the sofa, a few hisses and curses thrown in here and there while the TV played away in the background.

As soon as Shaw sat down with a plate piled high with pancakes and a few slices of bacon, Root looked as if she was about to pounce on her. Shaw was amused as she settled on the sofa, Root's legs naturally across her own again – it seemed automatic now. But Root didn't reach over to take one. She seemed to be waiting for Shaw to give her permission. So Root had no trouble breaking into someone's house, tying them up in the bathroom, tasing Shaw, tying _her_ up and threatening to torture her with an iron, which she would probably do, then sneaking into her house and tasing her _again_, but when it came to food, she was polite and waited to be offered? Shaw found it amusing as she directed her attention to the TV and slowly ate a pancake, groaning in pleasure every now and again while perfectly aware of Root watching her and practically salivating. A full five minutes passed, Shaw had started on her second pancake while Root's look of longing slowly turned into repressed fury.

"You could just ask, you know," shrugged Shaw.

"You're meant to offer food to a guest," replied Root sulkily. Shaw smirked; Root was desperately trying to look nonplussed, but Shaw could see her eyes flickering from the TV to the plate of food.

"_Uninvited _guest," repeated Shaw. Root shook her head, glaring determinedly at the screen. Shaw sighed, holding out the plate. "Just take one already. You have no boundaries about anything else."

Root immediately took one and jammed it in her mouth chewing happily with an expression of pure contentedness. Once she finished, she reached for another with a quick look to Shaw, who frowned, confused, but nodded. Root took a piece of bacon and a pancake from the large pile. "I have manners. I wasn't raised in a barn, you know."

"And yet here we are. Maybe a barn would have done you good," retorted Shaw through a mouthful of food.

"But then I wouldn't have met you. Would that have been a good thing?" asked Root in her usual flippant tone before her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, aware of what she had just said. Shaw glanced at her, surprised, but Root averted her eyes, glueing them instead to the screen, regretting her composure slipping enough to ask something potentially damaging.

Shaw let out a long breath through her mouth. "Let's see. If I didn't have an annoying hacker in my life who has broken into my house, tased me twice and irritated me beyond belief for the last few months, I would guess that would be a good thing to a normal person," she said coolly. Glancing over at Root, she noted with a hint of surprise and pleasure that though Root's smile was fixed firmly in place, she didn't look happy. Shaw let her sweat it out for a second. "Good thing I'm not normal," added Shaw.

"You say the sweetest things," said Root with a short – relieved – laugh.

"All I'm saying is that as decent as Finch and Reece are, they're far more boring. And I'd be surprised to see them look that cool with a pair of guns," Shaw shrugged casually.

"That's... some compliment."

"It's true," replied Shaw, focussing on the screen.


	4. Chapter 4

"I definitely need a shower now," said Root, picking bits of dirt from her top. Her skin felt prickly and covered in dust, grime and blood. Her head was an itching mess.

"You look like hell," agreed Shaw, getting up from the sofa and picking up the plate from the coffee table, where it had sat empty for the past few hours. Crossing into the kitchen, she heard Root's grumbling and rolled her eyes with a smile. Glancing at her clock, she realised it was around seven in the evening. Darkness had gathered quickly, smothering the weak winter sunlight. The day had just flown by. It was one of the laziest days Shaw had experienced for ages. At one point, she might have dozed off during a movie while Root watched, enthralled after she took her next dose of painkillers. Root was looking better, her face less pale than before, especially after she had been fed. Shaw found herself glad that Root was on the mend, but also a little worried. Once Root was up and about, she'd be thrown back into the fray, into a bloody battle for the fate of civilisation, on the front lines. Not that Shaw's job was any safer, she guessed, but she had autonomy. Reece and Finch wouldn't make her do anything that would result directly in her death if it wasn't necessary. But the Machine could ask Root to sacrifice herself, and Root loved the Machine enough to do it. Shaw wasn't entirely sure how she'd react – if she'd react. Her father was the closest person to her, and she couldn't react when he died. What if she was like that again, those distant screams buried deep inside, lingering and festering inside her, but unable to be properly felt and expressed. What if she was haunted by Root for the rest of her life, just a distant little ghost she could never shake off in the back of her head?

"You're so kind," responded Root sarcastically, cutting through Shaw's thoughts. "Will you let me shower?"

"Fine," called Shaw in reply, shaking off her depressing musings. A bright smile lit up Root's face as she hastened to her feet, only to lose her balance and topple back towards the floor. "Jesus Christ," sighed Shaw, hurtling across the room to the couch where Root lay groaning on her good side, having managed to twist as she fell. Shaw reached down and gripped Root's good arm, easily pulling the taller woman to her feet. "Come on, idiot." Shaw stepped towards the bathroom, guiding a wobbly Root by the arm.

"So gallant," smiled Root between winces as Shaw reluctantly pulled her closer, taking her weight and looping her right arm around Root's back.

"I've still got half an hour before you can start all that up again," grunted Shaw, kicking open the bathroom door and switching on the light. Root clung onto the doorframe and eased herself inside while Shaw disappeared to fetch a towel. When she returned, she was greeted by the sight of Root struggling to take off her shirt. Shaw leaned against the doorway, arms folded and watching with an amused smile on her face while Root attempted to pull the top over her head.

"You could help me," said Root when she heard Shaw's quiet chuckling.

"You could ask," replied Shaw, not giving in. Root dropped her arm by her side in frustration, pursing her lips and glaring at Shaw. Then she stepped forwards into Shaw's personal space, tilting her head downwards and looked up at Shaw, a sultry grin on her face.

"_Please_," she purred, leaning closer to Shaw, who quickly assumed an unimpressed expression.

"All you had to say," shrugged Shaw, before reaching forwards and gripping Root's shirt, tugging it upwards and revealing the pale skin beneath. Root raised her hands above her head, trying her best not to wince as pain shot down her arm. Shaw glanced up as she edged the stained material further up Root's body, her eyes locking onto Root's face. The taller woman's expression made Shaw falter, for barely a second. Root was looking at her with a small, content smile and the most tender and… _loving_ expression that had ever been directed at Shaw. Shaking her head, Shaw forced herself to keep moving and pulled the shirt over Root's head. After she had tossed the dark material into the corner of the tiled floor, she looked back up at Root, who was still staring back at her with that very un-Root-like expression. "What?" demanded Shaw, feeling uncomfortable.

"Just you," said Root quietly, reaching forwards and tapping Shaw gently on her cheek, her finger lingering on Shaw's skin for a few seconds. Before Shaw could open her mouth to respond, Root withdrew and stepped back a few paces. "Want to watch, Shaw?" she asked suggestively, blatantly ignoring the last half hour of their deal. Shaw wasn't really in a mood to argue, so she brusquely turned her back but remained outside the bathroom with the door open in case Root fell. She heard more rustling of clothes and felt something strike her in the back of the head. Glancing at the floor where the object fell, she saw it was Root's black bra. Glowering to herself, she kicked it back inside with a flick of her heel.

"Wouldn't you just _love_ that," called Shaw over her shoulder as she heard the shower being turned on.

"You know I would. You would too, I'll bet," was the smirked reply. Shaw chuckled despite herself, shaking her head as she leaned against the wall.

"Don't get those stitches wet!" she added tersely. Her words were met with a tinkling laugh.

"Stop fussing, Sameen. People will think you care." Shaw remained silent, unable to think of a reply.

After twenty minutes, Root was ordered from the shower by an irritated Shaw. A further five minutes were wasted by arguing until Shaw had had enough and stalked inside. She was met by a jet of water from the shower as Root stuck her hand out from behind the curtain and sprayed Shaw. Root poked her head out and let out a loud, cackling laugh as Shaw stood, eyes closed and hands on her hips, trying desperately to keep her temper in check. Root did, however, turn off the shower and wrap herself in the towel Shaw handed to her behind the curtain.

"Can I trouble you for some clothes?" asked Root, eyeing her own garments, which sat in the corner of the room, covered in dust, blood and grime. Shaw stomped off with a gruff nod, leaving Root alone in the steamy bathroom. She ran a hand through her now wet tresses, combing the soft strands through her fingers before towelling herself dry. Catching sight of the mirror, she raised her hand and wiped the condensation away from the cool surface, squinting at her slightly blurry reflection. Her face was peppered with red scrapes and scratches, with one larger one on her cheek, surrounded by an angry, blue bruise. Root sighed, touching her fingers to her face – she didn't look as bad as she could have, but still, her face was a mess. At least now she was cleaner. A few minutes later, Shaw returned, holding a handful of clothes through the doorway and clearing her throat to gain Root's attention. Root looked over at her, clutching the towel tightly over her body. Her eyes lowered to Shaw's shirt, which was wet and a little see-through. Looking back up at Shaw with a raised eyebrow, she opened her mouth to speak, but Shaw shoved the clothes into her arms, muttering angrily about something under her breath. Root pulled on the comfy black leggings and a black tank top a little awkwardly, but she managed, and towelled her hair a little drier, before leaving the bathroom and joining Shaw in the living room.

"What are you doing?" asked Root curiously as Shaw hurled a pair of pillows onto the couch.

"I need sleep," replied Shaw curtly, returning to her bedroom. Root looked on with a frown as Shaw appeared again from her bedroom, carrying a pile of blankets.

"Go and sleep then," said Root, watching as Shaw laid the blankets out on the couch.

"I will," said Shaw, leaping down on her makeshift bed and settling down.

"I'm not sleeping in your bed," objected Root. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"Don't be stupid. Go and sleep," grumbled Shaw, waving Root away.

"I will continue standing here and talking until you move. Since you can't hit an injured woman under your care, there's only one way you can get peace," she said coolly.

"You're really trying my patience, Root," growled Shaw, glaring up at her.

"Move and I'll leave you alone," said Root simply. Shaw narrowed her eyes but relented, getting to her feet and reluctantly padding over to her bedroom.

"If you're sure," said Shaw, pausing in her bedroom doorway.

"I am," replied Root, getting comfy on the blankets. She heard the door closing and lay back, resting her head on the pillows, pulling the blankets over herself and stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take her.

A loud crash woke Shaw, her mind automatically entering fight mode as she tore her covers off and grabbed her gun from under her pillow, flying across the dark room and wrenching open the door to the living room. Her eyes took in the dim scene quickly, her brain processing the threats. Her front door was wide open, a pair of black clad intruders with glinting silver pistols were standing over the couch. Shaw quickly fired a shot, striking one of the intruders in the head and knocking them to the floor immediately. The other was bent over the couch, grappling with Root. Shaw's finger twitched on the trigger, pausing for a moment as the pair wrestled. What if she hit Root? She could maybe get a shot, but she wasn't sure it would be a clean one. Shaw cursed herself for her doubt, harnessing her focus and taking aim. However, as the pair rolled off of the couch, Shaw heard a horrific screech of pain. Shaw's breath caught in her throat as she slammed her hand over the light switch. The silhouettes were illuminated to reveal Root pinning the intruder to the ground, battering their wrist against the floor. They released the gun as Root plunged a hand into her shirt, producing a large knife and driving it into the intruder with a loud cry. After four stabs to their chest, the intruder stopped moving and Root rolled off, staggering to her feet, her breathing ragged.

"You okay?" asked Shaw, darting over and checking the pair of intruders to make sure they were not getting back up and slamming shut her apartment door – the lock was busted, but Shaw shoved the bookcase in front of it as a barricade.

"Yes," replied Root, rubbing her arm and swaying slightly on her feet as she tried to keep her weight off her wounded ankle. Shaw stripped the dead pair of their weaponry and tossed them into her bedroom. Shaw looked up at her guest from the bedroom doorway to see a faraway expression on Root's face.

"Is She talking to you?" asked Shaw urgently, her finger itching on the trigger of her gun.

"Yes," breathed Root, staring blankly at a wall for a few seconds. Shaw waited impatiently for more information. "We're safe," she confirmed, focusing on Shaw again. "By the time she warned me, they were already here."

"Well, that's brilliant timing," grumbled Shaw, sarcasm dripping from her words. Root ignored her, and instead looked down at the bodies. "I'll deal with this." Shaw began dragging the bodies towards the door, pulling the makeshift barricade back and checking the coast was clear. Root watched, sliding back onto the couch and curling up as Shaw wrapped the bodies in a blanket, grunting in effort as she dragged them out of the apartment and down the hall, leaving Root alone.

Root sighed, her arm wrapping around her chest, her fingers brushing against her bandage. Her foot felt a lot better than it had been, though that might be the painkillers Shaw had given her before she fell asleep. The Machine had been screaming in her ear when she woke up, giving Root instructions that she was too tired and disorientated to follow. However, before she fell asleep, the Machine had instructed her to arm herself. Root decided to steal one of Shaw's kitchen knives and shoved it down her bra. Her body thrummed with adrenaline that blocked out the pain of being knocked about a bit, but she could deal with it. She had lived through worse. Her thoughts continued to drift as she sat there alone until Shaw appeared at the doorway again, closing the door and shoving the bookcase against it.

"I put them in the car," she grunted with a grim smile, which fell when Root snapped out of her thoughts and gave her a false grin in return. "Is everything okay?" asked Shaw, a tiny hint of concern leaking into her tone.

"Fine," replied Root, watching as Shaw crossed the room.

"Then stop being weird," yawned Shaw, pausing in her doorway. Root frowned, bemused, as Shaw turned back to her, a strange look on her face – Root couldn't quite identify it. "You sleep in here," she said, nodding to the bedroom, folding her arms.

"What? No, I'm fine here," assured Root, pulling the covers around her feet. Shaw approached her and studied her for a moment, looming over the hacker. Shaw reached out and brushed her thumb over Root's nose, her skin coming away red with blood. Root felt her skin tingle at the contact. Shaw wiped the smear on her jeans.

"It's safer through there," she said in a surprisingly soft tone.

"We're not having this argument again –"

"Go," barked Shaw, narrowing her eyes, glaring at Root, whose mouth opened to argue. "Please," Shaw added, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not throwing you out of your own bed," stated Root adamantly. "And we both can't sleep on the couch." Her eyebrow rose, a suggestive smirk forming on her features, her sparkling eyes crinkling around the edges. "Of course, there's a way this can be fair for both of us…"

Shaw bit her lip, glowering at Root as she considered it.

"I'm too tired to argue," shrugged Shaw, her voice almost completely steady. "Fine." Shaw hit the lights in the living room, plunging them into the dim orange glow from the street outside.

Shaw turned and trudged into her room, leaving Root to drift in behind her. Shaw threw herself onto the sheets, pulling the duvet up over her and settling down on her side, placing her pistol beneath her pillow and glancing at the two guns that lay on her dresser. She felt the mattress dip behind her as Root eased herself inside, careful of her injuries. She closed her eyes, allowing her irritation to bleed out in her deliberately slow breaths, until she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

"I have a gun and I will use it," she growled, not moving.

"You're hogging the covers, Shaw," smirked Root. Shaw pursed her lips before grumbling a long string of varied curses as she threw the covers over Root. "Thank you," she said quietly, her tone genuine.

"Just shut up and get some sleep," sighed Shaw, rolling back over and facing the wall.


	5. Chapter 5

Apologies for the late update, I have officially taken on too many projects, and a too lazy to get them all done when I want to. Anyway, I won't be abandoning this fic, and I'll try to do a weekly update. Thanks to everyone who reads this and the reviewers, and please hit me with any suggestions or ideas, they really help. Forgive any mistakes, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Root woke several times during the night, the pain of her injuries and her slight paranoia keeping her awake. She began to realise that Shaw was a less than desirable bed-mate. The first time she woke up, Shaw was muttering in her sleep, swearing and cursing at some person Root had never met. Root found it amusing for the first five minutes, but then it got ridiculous. Eventually, it became too much and she was forced to flip over and shake Shaw awake. This was not the best idea, Root soon realised, as she found herself pressed against the mattress, Shaw pinning her down. Pleasantly surprised, Root grinned wickedly as the sleep cleared from Shaw's eyes. Shaw's eyebrows rose at the sight of the woman beneath her, but quickly gathered herself and rolled off.

"Why can't you just let me sleep?" she asked with a groan. Root smirked, sitting up against the headboard, pulling the covers around her.

"Because torturing you is fun," replied Root. "What time is it?" Shaw glanced at the clock.

"Half-seven in the morning," moaned Shaw, refusing to face her own personal Satan. "It's still dark, so it's still night. Let me sleep."

Root leaned her good hand behind her head and experimentally shifted her other hand, working out how much movement she could get away with before the dull throbbing in her bicep became too much for her to handle. Pleased she had achieved a little more flexibility than the previous night, she settled back down to doze for a while. The Machine chattered away to her as a gesture of comfort, feeding her random pieces of information.

"You feeling okay?" asked Shaw tiredly, her voice muffled by the pillow. Root opened her eyes, surprised at Shaw's concern.

"Better than yesterday," sighed Root happily. "Thanks to you," she added, looking to her left, her hair rustling against the pillow.

"If you had bled out on my couch, I'd have needed to clean it up," mumbled Shaw. Root gazed through the semi-darkness, the orange light from the street outside illuminating Shaw's glossy hair. Though she wanted nothing more than to run her hand over the soft locks, she would definitely miss her hand if Shaw tore it off.

"Next time I'll make sure to bleed over the sink." Root ran a hand through her soft hair. She had definitely recovered in worse situations. In fact, she had now decided to come here whenever she was injured. And maybe a few times just for fun. Shaw would let her in, she thought with a grin. The supposedly heartless woman wouldn't send her away. And if she did, she could just annoy Shaw until she surrendered. Root knew she got under Shaw's skin worse than anybody else, and she would fully exploit this fact.

"See that you do." Root propped herself up on her left elbow, cradling her head in her palm as she watched Shaw's chest rise and fall rhythmically.

"So you'd be happy to look after me again?" she asked, regretting the tiny hitch in her voice that took her by surprise.

"Can't you just shut up for a while?" lamented Shaw, pulling the covers up over her head and wrapping herself up tighter. "I sewed you back together with my bare hands, for Christ's sake!"

"And I will be_ eternally_ grateful," purred Root, tugging at Shaw's duvet-cocoon, leaning down close enough to whisper in her ear. "I could think of _many_ ways to pay you back." Her voice dripped with suggestion, her hot breath caressing Shaw's ear. Root caught the smaller woman's reluctant shiver. Blessed with a sudden boldness, she pressed a quick kiss to Shaw's cheek before pulling away with a chuckle. Narrowly avoiding Shaw's hand batting her away in surprise, she slumped back against her pillows.

"Let me doze for half an hour then I'm going to Finch. Ask Her if I'm going to get shot on the way." Root tilted her head to the side, hearing The Machine's robotic voice droning in her ear.

"Nothing planned yet. She'll keep me updated," she reported, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and testing her weight on her injured foot. She was pleased to hear Shaw's frustrated groan as she threw the covers off of herself and Shaw, tossing them to the bottom of the bed.

"Will The Machine seek revenge if I kill her favourite pet by tossing her out of a window?" she enquired with a deep growl as she leaned up and snatched her duvet back, curling up into a tight little ball.

"She might. I don't know," shrugged Root, wincing as she stood up, shifting her weight onto her good leg and limping through the semi-darkness. Her left hand reached out, running across the edge of the bed and guiding her towards the bedroom door. "I wouldn't risk it though." Root slipped out and closed the door. Switching on the light, she limped over to the kitchen. With only a slight pause to rest against the back of the sofa, she made the trek with no problems. Her right hand was capable of a little more movement than the previous day, though it still smarted if the skin stretched too far. She filled a glass of water and drank, appreciating the feeling of the cool liquid flowing down her throat. After a few gulps, she sighed, staring out of the kitchen window down at the peaceful street below.

"Sorry to drag you away from your sentimental reverie," grumbled Shaw as she trudged into the kitchen, her feet padding against the tiled floor. "But I need in to the stove." Root stepped to the breakfast bar and awkwardly hopped onto it, sitting comfortably on the counter-top. Shaw flew around the cupboards loudly, mixing flour, sugar, eggs and milk together.

"Pancakes again?" asked Root, content to watch Shaw at work. She particularly appreciated Shaw's lean muscles in her arms as she mixed. Shaw glanced up, catching Root staring. With a wicked grin, Shaw dipped her forefinger into the uncooked batter and licked it off slowly, watching Root out of the corner of her eye. Root shamelessly stared, the corners of her lips twitching upwards.

"They were amazing, don't lie," snapped Shaw once she felt her point had been made.

"That's true," Root admitted, leaning over to sample some of the batter herself. Shaw batted her hand away with a glare.

"No," Shaw warned, pointing her finger at Root, as one would a bad dog. Root raised her eyebrows, but spotted a small splodge of pancake batter that remained on Shaw's finger. With a look Shaw could only describe as predatory, Root dipped her head and wrapped her lips around Shaw's finger, a challenge in her eyes. Shaw exhaled in exasperation as Root ran her wet tongue over the pad of her finger, sucking ever so slightly. "Are you done?" she sighed, tilting her head. Root withdrew, licking her lips, pleased that there was an ever so slight blush on Shaw's cheeks.

"Not as _done_ as I'd like to be –"

"Stop," growled Shaw, pouring the batter into the pan.

"Never." Root rested her bad hand on her lap, supporting her weight with her right arm, smelling the pancakes as they cooked. She could see herself happily bickering with Shaw in the mornings while they made breakfast before they went to work. Of course, it was unlikely she could actually get a normal job, and it was even less probable that she would be able to hold onto said job without getting bored. But she could find other, faster ways of procuring money. The only problem was that The Machine might not be happy with her if that was what she chose to do with a 'normal' life. Her version of normal was good enough for now. She had things to do, stuff to steal. People to silence. But she would enjoy her recovery time while she could. Hanging out with Shaw was much more fun than spending her time with her team, trying to take down Samaritan before it became a big problem.

"I can make you." Root snapped out of her thoughts, turning her attention to Shaw, who picked the first batch from the pan and tossed one to the hacker. She caught it deftly, suppressing a wince as her fingers burned. Shaw juggled the other two pancakes until they cooled down before stuffing them in her mouth. Root chewed hers thoughtfully.

"No plates?" she enquired with a smirk.

"Less dishes to wash," replied Shaw automatically with a shrug as she flipped the next batch.

"Lazy."

"Efficient," corrected Shaw.

"Of course," conceded Root. "So are you leaving me here all day?" Shaw handed Root another pancake.

"If you manage to get yourself killed while I'm out, I'll have to hide your body or face a load of really annoying questions. So I'm keeping an eye on you. And if you burst my stitches, I'll be pissed."

"I see," grinned Root. She knew Shaw was covering up her concern with cutting sarcasm and general moodiness. Root's running theory was that the more Shaw cared about something, the more she tried to distance herself from it. And given how often she insulted or threatened Root, she must secretly care a lot. It flattered and amused Root to no end. They continued eating in a comfortable silence. Shaw quickly washed the bowl as Root hobbled back to the bedroom.

"I washed your clothes," said Shaw as she brushed past, holding out Root's clothes. They were immaculately folded and neat, which was odd – Root had gone through Shaw's drawers and found her garments strewn all over the place.

"When?" asked Root, surprised.

"When you were asleep," she shrugged.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," growled Shaw, turning away and stripping off her pyjamas, carelessly throwing them into the corner of her room and pulling on a pair of black trousers and a matching tank top. "Ever. Or I'll let you die next time."

"That's so sweet," smirked Root, glad she had those glorious three seconds to appreciate Shaw's curves. Root, however, took much longer to dress herself. Shaw reluctantly helped when Root pouted, and Root took particular pleasure in struggling with her shirt. As Shaw pulled her pyjama top over her head, Root took a deliberate step forwards and shamelessly invaded Shaw's space, grinning down at her. Shaw responded by saying nothing – she didn't seem even the slightest bit flustered, and 'accidentally' whacked Root in the face with her freshly washed and ironed shirt. Root took the blow – she deserved it. She knew the consequences if she stepped over Shaw's boundaries, and understood Shaw's need to even the score. Shaw refused to help Root with her jeans, and left the room when Root began her pouting again.

* * *

Shaw rested her arm against the window, leaning her head against her hand while she drove through the rain-swept streets. Root had been flicking through the radio stations for the past five minutes, ever since they had gotten into the car. She just couldn't settle on any one station.

"Can you just pick one?" snapped Shaw once she had reached the end of her tether. "Is that too hard?"

"Relax, Shaw," purred Root, leaning back on her seat. On the radio was a generic pop song – which Shaw loathed.

"Seriously?" she growled, glancing at her passenger with narrowed eyes.

"You don't like it?" asked Root innocently, eyes wide – though her barely suppressed grin gave her away.

"No, I do not," sighed Shaw, turning a corner. "And you don't either."

"How do you know?"

"Because nobody in their right mind can like this. And I'm just guessing it isn't your thing either."

"I'll admit you're right. But it's worth it to annoy you."

Shaw opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly, a red Vauxhall tore out in front of them from around the corner. Slamming on the brakes, her arm flew out automatically to brace Root. Thankfully, they missed the other car. Shaw immediately looked over at Root, who was pinned back against her seat by Shaw's arm. This was Root's version of Christmas come early, and Shaw could just _feel_ the onslaught of teasing that was coming her way. Shaw escaped Root's first attack by leaning out of the window and swearing at the driver of the offending car. The rude hand gesture she received in reply only made her hurl another wave of curses at the Vauxhall as they sped off into the distance. Rolling up the window, Shaw refused to look at Root, who undoubtedly had that God-awfully irritating smirk on her face.

"If you say a word, I will crash this car," she warned. "And at least put something good on the radio."

Root suppressed a laugh and obediently changed to radio to a rock station, relaxing back in her seat and watching the rainy world drift by, listening to the pattering of the rain on the roof of the car as they approached the library.


End file.
